The Awkward Adventures of Sam and Lucifer
by LordsofLazarus
Summary: It's been a few months now, and Lucifer just doesn't seem to want to go away. That was fine, Sam could always just ignore him right? Right. Wrong...


Throaty humming echoed in air of the cheap motel room. The walls were a pasty yellow, and the shaggy carpet was a suspicious shade of mottled brown. The beds creaked and groaned with the slightest movement, and earlier Dean could have sworn that while he slept, something had bitten him. Hard.

Dean was gone by now, having left for the local bar's "Single's Night" and leaving Sam alone in the room. By the sound of the humming that had woken him from fitful slumber, he hadn't been alone for awhile.

It had started about fifteen minutes ago, maybe long before that, but Sam didn't want to bother opening his eyes to check the vibrantly orange clock on the nightstand. As long as he could get away with pretending to sleep, he would do so. Until the humming stopped and a sighing voice spoke, "Ignoring me won't make me go away, Sam."

Despite the slight warning, he continued to feign sleep. He forcibly restrained his throat from swallowing as the bed creaked and he felt a small dip of weight at his back. He could not keep his fingers from twitching where they gripped the bedsheets loosely. Sam focused on breathing evenly, hoping that Dean would be back soon. And then he realized that Dean's eventual return probably wouldn't do much of anything.

It never had before…

Fingers poked at his neck, the jagged edges of short nails catching on the hairs at his nape. It was one finger, repeatedly pressing at the place exactly where his spine met his skull, and it made him uneasy. His eyes remained shut despite the prodding. It wasn't real.

He hissed when something sharp dug into his shoulder, and he imagined that he could feel the warm flow of blood soaking into the shirt that he wore. Sam knew that he couldn't ignore ___that_, not now that Lucifer was cutting him, so he sat up on the bed as if nothing had happened. He yawned convincingly, partly because he actually was tired, and looked at the alarm clock. The bright numbers glared out at him that it was almost three o'clock in the morning. Sam grit his teeth and his shoulders tensed as something prodded at his back.

"Saaaaaam," the Devil called from behind him, "I'm boooored." And the prodding continued. It felt like fork, and Sam could distinctly feel the tines digging lightly into his flesh. "C'mon, do something, say something, don't ignore meee."

"Shut up…" Sam muttered, relenting at last, grimacing at the hushed giggle that followed. The poking ceased, but Sam didn't move from where he sat at the edge of the bed. All he really wanted was some sleep…

His eyes drifted shut, but he couldn't nod off. Each time he got close, his head would shake him awake and his eyes would open again, like he___wanted_ to prevent himself from sleeping. He suddenly heard a clack from behind him. Thinking it could be the door slipping open, he turned around. There was a pile of wooden sticks organized into a tower in front of the door and the Devil sat cross-legged behind it, peering around the wobbling edifice, "How 'bout some Jenga?"

Sam screwed his eyes shut and groaned inwardly, refusing to acknowledge him any further. He fell back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling, listening to wood scraping softly against wood. The pieces clicked together in a messy pile on the floor as Lucifer dropped them, one after another. Sam breathed in slowly, wondering how long the Devil would be amused by a balancing game. Apparently not for long as the muffled clattering of wooden sticks falling to the ground sounded in the room, followed by a questioning shout of, "Jenga?"

He sighed and shut his eyes as the bed creaked, "Playing games alone is boring," Lucifer muttered, resting his elbows on the bed, "How about 'I Spy'?"

Sam said nothing in return, and Lucifer kept on talking, "I spy something that's…" he paused, pursing his lips and looking around the room, "___Mine ._Can you guess what it is, Sammy?"

Fingers poked at his sides, "C'mon, guess. What could it possibly be?" Lucifer asked with a smug look up at Sam, who still concentrated on the ceiling. He had started to turn the popcorn spots into shapes. He swore he saw one that looked just like a giraffe.

The door thumped loudly, and Sam heard muffled cursing from beyond it. It swung open moments later, and Dean ambled inside, flopping down onto the other bed with a groan.

That was the last time that he had seen Dean…

* * *

Sam rubbed at his eyes as the alarm on his nightstand chimed 7:00 A.M. His hand flung over, knocking the button that brought in much needed, peaceful silence. He lay there for a moment staring at the ceiling, nothing more than a blur without his sleep-blurred eyes. He reached over blindly to the nightstand with his fingers, fumbling for the glass of water he had left there.

They closed quickly over the cold cup and Sam lifted it to his face with a sigh, taking a long swallow. He shivered when he eventually threw the covers back and stood up, stretching his arms loosely and walking down the stairs into the kitchen. He was long gone from Dean, and Sam found himself almost grateful for the absence. The concern had been suffocating…

He stepped around the counters until he reached the refrigerator and pulled the door open, giving a forceful tug when it stuck. He put a tub of butter on the counter behind him and reached in again. He grabbed two eggs out and gripped them carefully in his palm while he closed the door and turned to one of the cabinets. It took a bit of digging to unearth the frying pan, but he finally was able to set it on the stovetop.

It had taken some doing, but having saved that realtor from a very disgruntled ghost a few weeks back had its perks. It had gotten him a simple, two-story house in Traverse City, Michigan. And while the floorboards creaked and there was some heavy water damage, it suited him just fine.

Sam lost a fight with a yawn as he turned on the burner and put the eggs on the counter. He thought absently that he should have put them down first, but realized that he had done just fine. He pulled a knife free of one drawer and sliced into the butter, dropping the slab into the pan and listening to it sizzle. As soon as it began to lose its solidity, Sam picked up one of the eggs.

He brought it down with a crack on the side of the pan, and some of the egg-white dribbled down over the sides. He was poised to pull the two pieces of shell together when, "Good morning, Sam."

With a start, Sam dropped the egg, shell and all, into the sizzling pan. The shell had cracked into little flakes, some of which had soaked into the egg itself, "Did I scare you? I'm sorry."

Sam shook his head at the voice, refusing to turn around- he was just very tired and that stupid dream of his hadn't helped matters. He felt a jolt of something sharp that registered as displeasure. Someone was poking the back of his skull and the feeling reverberated through his brain, "Just pay ___a little_ attention to me, Sammy."

"Shut. Up." Sam hissed through his teeth as he used the knife to pick out the stray bits of shell. His eggs would just be crunchy this morning…

"That's very rude, you know."

"I honestly don't care." Sam replied. He grabbed a plate and allowed the egg to slide onto it with a slick flopping sound. He could still see a few tiny pieces of eggshell stuck within the soggy yolk. As he set the plate down, the voice chimed in again, "You should. After all, you ___are_ talking to yourself."

"I'm not talking to anyone," Sam said, grabbing for a fork out of the drawer. He had forgotten the other egg entirely until he saw it rocking back and forth on its side on the counter. He wasn't in the mood to bother with it, "Because you're not really here..."

Sam bit down harshly on the fork, ignoring the sudden ache in his teeth that the action had caused, "Oh, Sam," the voice crooned, and Sam felt fingertips running over his shoulders, "How many times do I have to tell you? You're still in Hell, crammed into the cage with Mikey and me."

The fork froze in midair, but soon resumed its course.

"Fine. Don't listen to me, I really don't mind at all. I'll just wait until you're doing something important and then I'll shout at the top of my lungs and scare you half to death. Again."

Sam finished his breakfast and threw the dishes into the sink with a clatter. He didn't hear anymore from Lucifer all morning…

* * *

He'd found a job at a local shop, selling a random assortment of items to tourists and locals alike. It was probably because of his height that he'd been hired, the tallest of the other employees being at least six inches shorter than himself and unable to reach the uppermost shelves.

The store was quiet that day- not many people came around on Sundays- and Sam sat on a chair behind the counter, watching as people outside passed him by. He ignored the sounds of shattering glass as Lucifer pushed snowglobes off of the shelves, tipping them over one by one.

He strolled absently across the store, stopping to wave at Sam at odd intervals and frowning deeply when Sam didn't respond. Sam jerked back suddenly, gripping onto the side of the counter with his hands while his body nearly toppled over, at the loud whoosh of air passing just below his ear. He turned around to look, narrowing his eyes at the tiny red pitchfork now protruding from the wall. Sam glared at Lucifer, pulling himself up as he did so, "Cute."

The Devil simply nodded, grinning in response, "___I_ thought so."

* * *

He was still on edge, of course, as the actual 'torture' bit had seemed to pass. Nowadays, the Devil simply seemed bored, contented with doing minor things; like changing the channel on the television from documentaries to porn. Or replacing the peanut butter in the cabinet with some fresh, Spanish mole. The latest thing was turning the water in the bathroom red whenever Sam took a shower, and putting insects in his shampoo bottle.

Apparently, all Lucifer really wanted was for Sam to talk to him. Sam really didn't buy into the whole Satan-with-a-halo routine, but it's not like he was going away anytime soon, now was he?

Sam looked off to his left where Lucifer was prodding his way through the cabinets in the kitchen, and sighed to himself before turning back to the TV.

___Nope._

* * *

___Author's Notes:  
_

You've probably already guessed that this fic is complete and utter nonsense. Nevertheless, I have enjoyed writing it, but I am not sure as of yet if will develop plot or not.

(Transferred from my AO3 account- NightmareThicket)


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